The Shades of Bernard Black
by Era.In.Rutilus
Summary: Bernard Black has messed things up for the last time with Fran, is left to suffer. One Shot set to a mashup of lyrics from The Script's 'Nothing' & The Pretty Reckless's 'You.'


_Am I better dead?_

His world started the night in vivid colour, slowly faded to dull grey and now his vision was assaulted by an array of unfathomable black. Bernard never thought so many shades of black were possible. Black. That was his name. That was his nature. That was his world now, now that she was no longer a part of it. No one could colour his world, bring back the light to contrast his dark.

_Am I better off a quitter?_

There was no point of even trying to stay sober or be happy. Happy? He could never comprehend such a word, was not all that sure he had ever truly felt it. But he knew he felt something when he was with her...something... was it happiness? He didn't know, nor did he care, it was close enough if it was quite happiness. He didn't care of much these days. Not even about the constant splitting headaches, blurred vision and overwhelming nausea of which he tortured himself with. As long as he didn't have to deal with the emotional crap he could deal with the physical.

_They say I'm better off now_

Everyone tells him- Manny, the voices in his head- that this is just a bump in road. What they mean the massive pothole in the road that causes you to career off the road and do bunch of flips in which leaves you in vegetative state for the rest of your life? Then yes this was a bump, a big bump, in fact it was fucking mountain. They tell him it's for the best and he'll be better off in the end, become less dependent, and force him to make new friends, find new company. He didn't want new 'besties' he wanted only one thing-the one thing he didn't have- her.

_Than I ever was with her_

He wanted her and no one would suffice. No one could compete. No other human being would ever get ever badly timed joke, put up with his constant blunt sarcasm, no one would bring him the right cheap wine or be as much fun a drinking partner. No one would ever compare to Fran. He knew this. They knew this. Even the dead bees on the windowsill knew this... well they would if they were alive. She was the best thing that ever happened to him, she gave him some of the best memories and they were the best of friends. She was the best in every way, in every aspect that he looked at it.

_And I want you in my life_

And he stupidly let her go. Let her slip right out his fingers. He let the best thing that ever happened to him walk straight out of his life. He was left all alone in this pitch black, dreary and drab bookshop with only alcohol, dead insects and himself for company. All because he had the stupidity to fuck it all up. He wanted her so much so he couldn't help but fuck it up. Bernard hated admitting it but he knew he loved her so much that he had no choice but to fuck it up because the only thing that could rival his feeling for her was his pride.

_And I need you in my life_

A pride that blinded him from his true feelings and failed to provide him with the courage to confess them. If he had been honest with her from the beginning and just come out with it instead of trying to ruin the chances of every other useless bugger that had the courage to. He was well aware of what he did, play one her insecurities and plant seeds of doubt. Her relationships were set up to fail from the start. He hated to admit it but he lived for it, the mind games and the aftermath.

_You don't need me_

He loved the breakups. Fran running back to him for comfort, another failure to add to her never ending list and another step closer to realizing that he Bernard Black was the only man for her. He needed her to know see how much she needed him so he didn't have to feel so damn pathetic about needing her. He needed her just as much as he needed air to breathe or chardonnay to get drunk on. Like Darcy needed Liz, Heathcliff needed Cathy or Mr. Rochester needed Jane... oh God he was referencing classic romances now. He needed her; he always relied on her and still did.

_And I know that I'm drunk but I'll say the words_

And just when he had the courage to speak up, speak out of his feelings it all goes to pot. He's fucked up again, fucked up for the last time. She leaves him. Alone and with a crate full of wine, a deadly combination. But it won't be the merlot that gets him in the end; no it'll be the gaping hole in his chest aching relentlessly. But you can't see it and you can't treat it too ease it. It's a pain Bernard Black has never experienced before, emotional angst, heartbreak. He's dying and he knows it, dying on the inside. He's in a bad way and can admit it, but doesn't say it.

_And she'll listen this time even though they're slurred_

He only just plucked up the courage to say the words to her and hand her his heart on a silver platter, a serving of a life time. She returned the favour with a dish of her own, served cold, rotten rejection. Those words he said fell on deaf ears but hers didn't and they swirled around his head. He loved her, he told her those three little words and she replied she didn't care. He thought... he thought she felt the same way, that she tells him she loved him too.

_You can't feel me, no_

She left him there lying stunned. He never saw it coming poor thing. It took him a while to pick up what pieces of him he could collect, collected himself enough to stumble to the buy as much wine as he could afford with the money left in his pocket. Enough to stumble to the bookshop and collapse in this chair, enough to drink. Keep drinking until he couldn't think, see, hear, taste or even feel. He's numb now, is almost as unfeeling as the measured gaze she gave him as she tried to let him down easy. She didn't feel a thing clearly or she wouldn't have done it. Bernard knew he messed up but even a useless fuck like him deserved something more than that.

_I got nothing_

But he got nothing.


End file.
